Category Archives: true life 2002

A mathematician, a physicist and a squirrel walk into a bar…

This morning I was getting out of my car when Dr. X, a mathematician, pulled into the lot. I left my car door open while we exchanged pleasantries.

I could have sworn I saw something out of the corner of my eye. That’s when Dr. Y came running over insisting he’d just seen a squirrel run into my car.

Sure enough, there was a squirrel careening around the interior of my car with a mouth full of acorns. Didn’t anyone tell this little monster that Squirrel Awareness Week doesn’t start for 3 more days?

We opened the passengerside door thinking he’d run out. Nope. He liked it in there. Unfortunately, to open the back doors you have to reach in and manually unlock the door. Everytime we’d try that, Rocky would make like he was going to claw us.

We decided we needed a plan to get him out. Animal Control was our last resort because Dr. Y insisted that they’re pretty sloppy around here and don’t care whether they get the animal out dead or alive. As irritating as this little gray ball of chattering psychosis was, I didn’t want him to get hurt. I just wanted him out of my car.

Then the mathematicians began making this project a lot harder than it needed to be, jabbering about vectors and shit. That’s when I remembered: these two are theoreticians. We were probably going to have to design a computer model first or something.

I had a sudden flashback to the incident involving the nuclear physicists, the espresso machine, and the powerstrip and decided to take matters into my own hands.

Don’t get me wrong, they were proposing a solid course of action, but I needed to get to work and we’d already spent an awful lot of time taking into account the basic concepts of rodent behavior. How long was it going to take us to factor in basic human nature? I didn’t have that kind of time. I wanted the little monster out of my car so I could get some coffee, er, I mean, get to work.

We were going to have to enact The Plan and hope for the best.

I can’t even begin to imagine how silly we looked.

We all gathered on the passengerside of the car. Dr. X inflated the plastic newspaper bag he found in his car. (Thank god they weren’t microbiologists or we’d still be there sterilizing the bag before one of them would get it near their mouth). As the designated physicist in the bunch, they left it to me to decide how much he should inflate the bag. I made up a nonsense theory about the relationship between sound pressure levels and the tensile strength of the plastic (eventually conceding that everything I knew about the subject I learned at summer camp) and then we were ready.

We counted to 3. And nothing happened. Dr. X didn’t hit the bag hard enough and it just sort of made a dull squeaking fart-esque noise, causing us to start laughing. We tried again.

1. 2. 3. Bang!

The squirrel made tracks, I got my briefcase, and, most importantly, I was reunited with my beloved coffee.

I made Dr. X promise to check in with the campus police to explain the loud gunfire-like sound so we didn’t have every cop in the area descending on this place looking for snipers.

That was what had originally hung up the plan…would people hear the popping sound and mistake it for gunfire? People are rather on edge here as there’s a sniper loose in the DC area and every belief that s/he will strike again.

Dr. X got to make the call because he has tenure, you see, and is not only expected but required by his rank to periodically make loony phonecalls like this to University officials. It’s part of the deal. If word got out that academics were even partially sane or, even worse, useful, they might expect us to behave like so-called normal people. Can’t have that now, can we? Ruins all the fun.

Originally posted October 4, 2002 10:06 AM at punkprincess.com

Imported Comments

Oh man. Talk about timely, huh? I have a story like that about skunks, sent to me by my mother this morning.

I’d post it, but I have to translate it into English first.
Posted by: Tara at October 4, 2002 12:50 PM

Funny you mention skunks Tara because I was thinking about the way these stories grow and mutate on campus, in a week or so it will have been a skunk. Or maybe a deer. By next semester there will be a rumor about a family of bears living in an SUV in the student parking garage.
Posted by: skarlet at October 4, 2002 05:43 PM

Hey, did you hear about the bears that escaped from Rock Creek Park and took up residence in a dorm? It’s hard to differentiate between bears and ordinary students, although the bears show up for class more often.
Posted by: Linkmeister at October 4, 2002 06:10 PM

I just very nearly did a classic spit-take onto my monitor, Link. *giggle*
Posted by: skarlet at October 4, 2002 08:56 PM

Very cute!
Posted by: Zelda at October 5, 2002 10:01 AM

The other day I was walking to BART in the wee morning light and was stopped by a squirrel blockade. There was this enormous fluffy beastie, scampering down the tree as fast as his little muscled legs could propel him, with a mouth full of almonds.

I have been known to leave out almonds, or brazil nuts, or even pecans, for the little guys when they get bullied by the my-fig-eating alpha squirrels.

So here’s this big fat squirrel, at eye level with me on this tree, teeth cradling 2 almonds, giving me The Look. The “I can fit two more, lady,” look.

Here are some adorable baby bears, apropos of nothing.
Posted by: Jessica at October 5, 2002 02:16 PM

You think the squirrels are organizing? They can take us, I think.

I found acorns in my car and I’m convinced it now has the faint aroma of squirrel pee, but maybe I’m imagining that…
Posted by: skarlet at October 5, 2002 02:39 PM

i’m laughing so hard i’m crying, and my son thinks i’m insane. i blame all of you. and the damn squirrels too.

i have no squirrels. i feel so deprived.
Posted by: kd at October 5, 2002 07:03 PM

This is one of the funniest damn stories EVER! EVER! EVER to exist! BWAAAAAAHHHH HAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Posted by: JeanNINE at October 7, 2002 04:21 PM

i have no squirrels. i feel so deprived.

Hey KD: expect a package. ;)

I’m only kidding of course.

No animals were injured in the making of this website.
Posted by: skarlet at October 8, 2002 11:37 AM

Go home. Go back to bed. Now

We missed National Red Squirrel Awareness Week (Sept. 14-22) in the UK, but that’s OK because our own National Squirrel Awareness Week is just around the corner (October 7-13). I have no idea how you celebrate such a thing, but there you have it.

We now interrupt our regularly scheduled and otherwise innocuous wildlife post to bring you a significant amount of whining.

The other day, KD noted that the best way to judge a Monday was by how many times you had to turn around and go home before you got to work. I’m wondering if there’s another measure, how many times you should have turned around and gone home (and stayed there), but didn’t.

You know those days when it takes forever to get dressed? The mornings where you end up wearing the exact outfit you started out wearing, but in the interim there are about 7 wardrobe changes? Yes, this is the first sign that this is going to be one of those days when one should probably just say “fuck it” and go back to bed.

Yes, it’s been one of those days. And it’s not even 10:00 yet.

Before I left this morning I removed the trash from my car. I can’t stand trash in my car. I should have just put the trash on the floor in the back for later disposal, but it seemed so much tidier to just go ahead and put the little bag in the trashcan. It also seemed more efficient to walk directly to the trashcan – down, rather than around, the steep hill leading to the backyard.

Thanks to the drought, the hill doesn’t have much grass. Thanks to all the rain we got last week, the hill is muddy.

Halfway down I realized the hill was muddy and slippery, so I stopped. This was a mistake.

“I could call into the house for help.”
“With what? Cellphone’s in the car.”
“I could yell for help.”
“Who’s going to hear you?”
“Yeah. And what am I going to say? I’m afraid to take 3 steps forward or back to get off this little hill in my own yard.”

At this point it dawned on me that I was standing there clutching a small trash bag, paralyzed with fear, and talking out loud to myself.

“Go back inside and go back to bed.” That’s what I should have been saying to myself.

Thing is, I wasn’t worried about falling and getting hurt. I was worried about getting dirty and having to go back in and change clothes. These were the clothes I clearly needed to wear today. I spent a long time establishing that, no other clothes are suitable today.

Wear these clothes or go back to bed. It’s just that kind of day.

This is a concept Husband fails to grasp, the mysterious phenonmenon by which one knows which of a number of nearly indistinguishable black skirts is The One Appropriate Skirt. The Chosen One. And yet still has to try on all the others one after another as if something has changed since the last time you wore them.

Poor guy. Until I clean up the wardrobe crisis wreckage he has to step over the massive piles of garments deemed unsuitable that populate the house now like middens at an archaeological site. If the mound builders had worked in textiles, the Ohio River Valley would look like my bedroom right now.

Somehow I got back to the car and headed out to work.

This might be a good time to mention that my tags are expired. They aren’t really expired, but they look expired because they lack the proper stickers. I renewed them online at the last possible minute (ok, the truth is I renewed online the day after they expired) so I have the receipt but no stickers yet. I went to the DMV on Monday. It’s usually a highly efficient place (that’s not a joke, it is), but on this particular Monday the gates of hell had opened up. After the traditional taking of the wrong exit leading to a joyride through the Pentagon parking lot, I gave up and went to work. But back to this morning…

About a mile from home a funeral procession pulled out from the Catholic Church and into traffic right behind me. A sizeable funeral procession. Of police cruisers. With their lights on. I pulled into the righthand lane but traffic wasn’t being stopped and they didn’t pass me. After about a mile of this, they turned. It was a long mile. Strangely, this isn’t the first (nor, I suspect, the last) time this has happened to me. What can I say, I lead a charmed life.

It’s good I decided to be a grown-up and go on to work. I couldn’t have gotten pulled over in Arlington if I hadn’t continued on my merry way, now could I?

My plates came up in the computer as renewed, I had the receipt to prove I’d paid, and I was sent on my way.

I then did the only sensible thing. I went home and went back to bed.

No, I didn’t. I continued on to work.

When I got to the office I spilled coffee on my skirt. I rarely spill anything on my clothes. I really should taken this as a sign to go home and go back to bed. I didn’t though. I’m determined to stay on this collision course with disaster.

There’s a lot more nonsense to add to this pointless little ramble, but I can’t include any details so just trust me when I say that this week is a disaster.

I think it’s time for Dr. Noodles and I to put on Gang of Four and dance around the office for a while.

updated, 4 pm:
It’s interesting how many of my students are telling me that they’re in lockdown here or there or everywhere and can’t come to class. It’s a valid excuse, as many people are indeed in lockdowns all over the area and they aren’t supposed to leave campus. But that doesn’t mean they can’t leave their dormrooms. It’s tempting to mention at some point that I can see their IP addesses when they email me from their dorms and tell me they don’t think they can get back to campus. These kids today, they lack creativity sometimes. They disappoint me. If you’re going to tell me a story, make it big and dramatic. Or maybe just tell the truth. I’m a big fan of the truth.

They may be getting the “Go home, go back to bed” signal that I’ve been receiving all day… So just say so and be done with it.

the ultimate blonde joke

(post is part of the corrupted archives restoration & may includes old comments as text at the bottom)
__________
Extinction of Blondes Vastly Overreported: Media Fail to Check Root of ‘Study’ [link dead, was a Washington Post article]

I think this is my favorite part of the article:

“Future generations will never need to wonder whether a blonde bonce is natural — because every one will be from a bottle,” said the Express, adding that blondes such as Britney Spears “do have to endure jokes about being vague and a little short on brain cells.”

Apparently that applies to some journalists as well.

I must now return to worrying about a random assortment of things, including the Bat being in the path of a hurricane.
update: Oops. You aren’t losing your mind entirely and I apologize for any mental anguish I may have caused. For reasons I cannot even begin to explain, instead of a link to the Bat’s page above I inadvertanly linked to a picture of Donald Rumsfeld. There was no reason for this. It was a strange error and it has been fixed.

Posted by skarlet at October 2, 2002 08:15 AM | TrackBack
Comments
Hey! You have a whole site up here. Who knew?

Posted by: Faith at October 2, 2002 06:23 PM
Yeah, those fuckers can bite my platinum roots. And my grandmothers’ on both sides. Then I’ll slay their asses at the intellectual contest of their choosing. Grr.

Happily some of the articles covering the original report link to the (current, no results yet) study directly, so I get to be a respondent. Woot!

Posted by: Jessica at October 2, 2002 06:52 PM
a little nonsense now and then is cherished by the wisest men

— w.w.

Posted by: michael heraghty at October 3, 2002 09:32 AM
I have to fix my template so that clicking a link in the comments doesn’t open the link in the little bitty comments window. Oh KD…you out there?

Posted by: skarlet at October 3, 2002 10:14 AM

she’s absolutely right!

This post is part of the corrupted archives restoration and includes the old comments as text at the bottom of the post. Sorry if this is confusing.
______
Jessica is right, Gang of Four’s A Brief History of the Twentieth Century is perfect music to clean to.

I’ve also mixed in some Nine Inch Nails (Pretty Hate Machine), Shriekback (Oil and Gold), and Jonatha Brooke (Steady Pull) just for good meaure. (And possibly to drive the people in the next office nuts).

You know, in light of this Gang of Four/Shriekback/XTC binge, I really have no business mocking people who are into the whole retro-80s thing. Um, this is different. Somehow. I’ll think of how. Just give me a minute. Ummmm….

Yes. Well. At any rate.

Upside to working the weekend: no one bothers me and the time goes really fast.

Downside: I’m packing up the office for renovation and I’m so barely functional that I’m not sure what I’ve put in which box. I’m augmenting the label system the movers asked us to use with my own inventory, which seemed very clever 4 hours ago but is already a little bit confusing.

I’m looking at the dozens of boxes I packed this morning and I’m already wondering what my distinction was between “box 11: things that squeak” and “box 17: noisy toys(other)”

Unpacking is going to be fun, isn’t it?

For the next week, anything that anyone asks me is going to be met with the standard reply. “I’m sorry, that file must be packed up already.” I’m rather looking forward to that.

I have an exceptionally large collection of voodoo dolls. I don’t know why.

Now I’m going to take a lunch break. I took one Thursday and it was pretty fun. See, this not taking lunch thing is the kind of unhealthy behavior I lecture Dr. Noodles about. How hypocritical of me. Think I’ll wander outside now to check out this sunshine stuff I’ve heard rumors about. Apparently there’s this very hot star called the Sun that the Earth orbits around. It exudes waves of light that people seem to enjoy sitting in.

Posted by skarlet at September 28, 2002 01:00 PM | TrackBack
Comments
Holy crap. Not only was the sunshine stuff over-rated, but there are hundreds of sorority girls out there gyrating around to Sir Mix-a-lot’s “Baby Got Back.”

It’s not nearly as amusing as it sounds.

Posted by: skarlet at September 28, 2002 01:58 PM
I demand to know what the “squishy bits” are.

And I need photos of the voodoo dolls.
You need one from New Orleans, I feel sure of it.

and all the world is football shaped,
it’s just for me to kick in space
and I can see, hear, smell, touch, taste
and I’ve got one, two, three, four, five
senses working overtime…

Posted by: batgrl at September 28, 2002 07:15 PM
At least 5 of the voodoo dolls are from New Orleans. And one from Archie McPhee, of course. Plus Duke University Barbie. She counts too since we stick pins in her.

Squishy bits = soft tissue. So named after I dropped a spleen on the tile in an anatomy class eons ago and it made not a thud but a sort of thwack-squish sound.

Posted by: skarlet at September 29, 2002 12:22 AM
Mmmm spleen. I love that word – spleen. Spleen. Spleeeeeen.

Sorry.

Anyway – why do you think we former on-campus-living undergrads used to get intoxicated as quickly as possible on the weekend? Then the sorority girls are just fuzzy blobs of future soccer mom and we don’t really have to see them and, as a bonus, feel superior.

Posted by: at September 29, 2002 12:38 PM
I know the exact sound that a squishy bit would make if dropped on a lineoleum floor.
*proudly*

Posted by: batgrl at September 29, 2002 10:50 PM
Not a splut? I always thought there was a splut in there somewhere.

Posted by: bunny at September 30, 2002 08:08 PM
gang of four?

no kidding.. you actually have some recording of them? I thought they were cool, but its been so long I can’t really remember their songs. just the heat and noise.

Posted by: steeeeeeev at October 3, 2002 03:13 AM
I’ve been rebuilding my Gang of Four collection. Hehehehe. I have that same association – heat and noise. The boss is back from sabbatical and promptly confiscated some of my CDs so he could relive the summer of 1983.

You need to procure some Gang of Four, Steeeev. Your life is simply incomplete without it. You may not realize your life is incomplete, but trust me, it is…

Posted by: skarlet at October 3, 2002 10:24 AM
ehe

yeah now I’m confused.
Or I was. not anymore. the web tells the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

can I put links in here? here goes:
my rancid recollection of gang of 4 and anthrax.

Posted by: steeeeeeev at October 3, 2002 08:00 PM

Nice boots, baby

This post is part of the corrupted archives restoration and includes the old comments as text at the bottom of the post. Sorry if this is confusing.
—-

Over the weekend I found the most amazing pair of go-go boots (kneehigh, thank you very much). Black. Suede. Perfect shape. 500 dollar boots for 35 in a vintage shop. Look like they’ve been worn twice, maybe. I’m not wild about buying other people’s shoes, but for these an exception was made.

I was going to write a nice long post about go-go boots, but go-go-boots.com pretty much has it covered. Nothing for me left to say on the subject other than watch some of their links, they aren’t all work-safe.

Posted by skarlet at September 24, 2002 08:48 AM | TrackBack
Comments
Go-Go boots. Good. Now wear ’em to the next phillyFREAKOUT, fercryinoutloud!

Should happen in November sometime. Check the site, and lemme know if you wanna be on the e-mail list.

Sam :)
www.mondotopless.com
www.phillyfreakout.com

Posted by: Mondo Sam at September 24, 2002 12:02 PM
Baby! Thanks for stopping by. I’ll be there in November, without question. :)

(I’m on the mailing list under my other email address).

Posted by: skarlet at September 24, 2002 12:10 PM
I miss being able to wear boots.
It’s hot here. Boots are just not an option unless you’re mucking around in the fields and mud.
*sigh*
I want to go buy new boots now.
I hear the siren call of go go boots…
You must post a photo of these news ones of yours!

Posted by: batgrl at September 24, 2002 12:37 PM
Hell of a find!

You go girl!

Posted by: C.C. at September 24, 2002 02:52 PM
i had no idea that people were that obsessed about boots. i mean, that site was crazy, man, crazy!

Posted by: kd at September 24, 2002 07:11 PM
You go girl!

No, CC. It would be, “You go-go.”

I’m sorry. It’s early and I’m barely caffeinated, but I couldn’t resist.

Posted by: skarlet at September 25, 2002 09:05 AM
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Thank you for your time.

Regards

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Posted by: Ilencik at December 14, 2002 06:16 AM
Well I was looking for some punks boots that lace up I saw them in a magazine call “Twist” the singer that use these boots is Gwen Staffani. If you guys have magazine that I can see could you guys send them to me or else call me at {308}324-2166 Thanks

Posted by: Jessica Rodas at March 5, 2003 03:21 PM